


down the block

by justlikeswitchblades



Series: ivy and concrete [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Crushes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Midorima tries his best to avoid bad days. But even when he falls victim to one, Aomine is full of surprises.





	down the block

**Author's Note:**

> i first wrote this in aomine's perspective and i wasn't feeling it but i tried it with mido and im digging it now! happy 6/5!! :')

If he were to summarize it, Midorima would describe today as nothing short of terrible.

He had forgotten his chemistry textbook back in his dorm, and thus, the homework he had stuffed inside it. At practice, he kept throwing too far inside, sending a ball right to Ochiai’s waist. He's heard Wakamatsu swear at Aomine for less, and thankfully it'll result in nothing more than a nasty bruise, but that lone, exasperated _“What the fuck?”_ keeps echoing around the walls of his brain. To be fair, the sentiment is mutual; this is by far the worst day he's had with Cancer ranked at fourth. Usually fourth means a fine day, or even a mundane one. In baseball, batting fourth is sought out, even glorified. But today Midorima has struck out with the bases loaded, and is feeling the weight of letting himself down.

Whenever he had a day like this in middle school, he would go home and sit on his little sister’s bed, talking or not talking at all, and wait for the feeling to pass. In the past year, his limbs got longer, it took more time to fold himself up; but it still helped him feel better.

He's only a year older than his sister, and god, does he miss her. No one knows him better than she does, but the familiar walls of her room can't be found here. There's just the clinical white of his dorm, the dark mattress and slots of the bunk above his to stare into until he falls asleep every night. But even when it seems like he's found time to himself, his roommate, Aomine, tends to materialize out of thin air. He's known him since middle school, so he's used to some of Aomine's annoyances, but at the same time--hasn't he ever heard of privacy?

Midorima is thankful that he can still call his sister and vent; he can listen to the reassurance in her voice. There's a slight breeze in the air, but it's been nice to walk around outside tonight, the soft squelch of uncut grass under his sneakers, far enough removed from last week's rain so the wet doesn't seep into the fabric. Aomine has been sitting at the end of the quad for a while now, watching him, but his presence is less obtrusive this way. 

“Nii-san, are you sure you don't want to talk to Mom and Dad about these things?”

“I don't need to,” Midorima tells her, feeling himself stiffen a little at the suggestion. “It's not an emergency. They don't know we talk, do they?”

“Can't say they do.”

“I'll call them next week, then, to catch up,” Midorima comes to a stop in the middle of the field. “I just--I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” comes the reply, and Midorima lets himself smile after hearing the smile in his sister’s voice. “Feel better, okay?”

“I'll try. Thank you.”

He flips his phone shut and starts walking again, slipping it back into his sweatpants pocket in exchange for his keys, dangling on the end of a red and black lanyard. Aomine stands up from his spot in front of the door, crossing his arms.

“You haven't had dinner yet.” 

There's a part of Aomine that thrives off of being confrontational, Midorima has started to think, but he's just stating the facts this time; there's a hollow feeling in Midorima's stomach, and it gives a pained twist at the mention of food. Midorima looks at the ground, scuffs the toe of his shoe on the cement.

“Cafeteria’s closed.”

“You can't fix your mistakes if you don't have energy from not eating anything.”

Midorima looks back at Aomine; his face is softer now, more concerned than stern.

“Fine,” He moves to step past Aomine “My wallet’s inside.”

“Don't worry about it,” Aomine slings an arm around his shoulders. “It's my treat.”

Maybe Midorima would try to shrug him off, if he were feeling any better. But that takes effort, effort he doesn't possess at the moment, and he'll never tell Aomine, but the warmth that seeps into the fabric of his hoodie is nice, a vague approximation of the hug he wants to ask for.

Still, Aomine’s hand starts to slide back, resting between his shoulderblades, and then further away, retreating back into his hoodie pocket as they walk the familiar path to the convenience store a block away. Maybe it's the perception Midorima's created for himself, that he doesn't want to be touched; but the blame likely lies in his stride, long legs carrying him ahead even though he hasn’t come here one-hundred percent willingly in the first place. He stops in front of the vending machine, wondering whether this kind of weather is best suited to cold or warm shiruko and Aomine (in awe of Midorima’s skin lit up pale and ethereal by the fluorescent storefront) takes a second to catch up.

The store is pretty quiet now; they're a few weeks in, but the major essays and tests have yet to pounce, making late night snacks a little less necessary right now. Aomine waves at the cashier--Midorima hasn't memorized his name just yet--and they walk down to the aisle where some of the more sustaining food is kept.

Aomine lingers in front of the selection of instant ramen; Midorima supposes he could boil water if it came down to it. But then Aomine (justifiably) takes a look at the nutrition contents, and it's off the table. There's a selection of saran-wrapped onigiri in the fridge, and they look fairly appetizing, even if they were made an unknown number of hours before. Aomine grabs two, three--he looks back at Midorima while reaching for a fourth, who shakes his head--along with the candy bar Midorima glanced at when they first walked in the door. Aomine is halfway into a conversation with the cashier by the time he fishes his wallet out, but Midorima can't be bothered to pay attention to what they're saying; all he can focus on is the speed at which his items are scanned and the plastic bag that is handed to him. Upon receiving it, he heads for the door.

The curb across the street is quiet and faintly illuminated by a nearby streetlight. Midorima sits down and tears into an onigiri; it's colder than he'd prefer, but he's not about to complain. Aomine stops in front of the vending machine as well; a moment later, he's walking towards Midorima with a familiar pink can in hand. Midorima digs around in his pocket--he may not always keep his wallet on hand, but some emergencies he stays prepared for--and offers him a few coins. But Aomine places the can of shiruko atop the money in Midorima's hand and holds it there, Midorima has no choice to let his fingers wrap around it. When he does, Aomine sits down beside him. He takes a tennis ball out of his pocket, idly bounces it between his knees, then lets it roll a little before sweeping it back in. 

“Hey,” Aomine looks up, staring at the air in front of him. “Do you have a crush on me?”

Midorima exhales through his nose; he swallows his mouthful of rice.

“Aomine.”

“I _know_ ,” Aomine groans. “But bear with me. It's just, I kind of think I have a crush on you, and--well, that's not true. I definitely have a crush on you; I've been thinking about you pretty much every day since Satsuki dragged me to one of your championship games late last summer. And I know you're still getting used to us as roommates and practice and gearing up for the season, but it just feels like you've been acting a little different lately, okay?”

Midorima gapes. He noticed Aomine had been staring a little while back, but he didn't think much of it. He didn't want to think much of it; the praises Aomine gave him at practice would be enough, they're enough already, almost like Aomine struggles to reign himself in, but it couldn't ever be a possibility. His mind keeps sending him back to his second year of middle school, to the middle of that season.

“Even after everything that happened?”

“Well, yeah,” Aomine raises an eyebrow, looking back at Midorima. “What, you think I blamed you for it?”

“But Haizaki--and you--”

“Haizaki was an _ass,_ and I was too selfish and frustrated to defend you. So, while we're on the subject,” Aomine’s shoulders heave with a sigh. “I'd like to apologize for that, too.”

Midorima frowns, staring at his onigiri. “I don't need defending.”

“Mido, don't be like that,” Aomine tells Midorima softly, letting his fingers curl into a loose fist before bumping his shoulder. “I may have been distant, but I still heard the things they said about you.”

Midorima looks at Aomine, frowning still, but with absolute confidence.

“I’m here to prove them wrong.”

“Shit,” Aomine’s grin is wild and radiant, sparkling in the light cast from the storefront across the street. “Of course you are.”

“You really will, Mido,” Aomine uses the affectionate name again for Midorima; Midorima has a sense that he won’t stop using it until he tells him so, and Midorima hasn't been inclined to stop Aomine yet. “You’ve gotten so good; your pitches are _insane!_ You’re gonna destroy them and even Akashi won’t see it coming!”

Aomine wipes at his face, but the grin seems to be a permanent fixture; he’s laughing, not doubled over, but wholly satisfied. He runs his fingers through his hair, unintentionally fluffing up a spike that droops a moment later; it makes a warmth bubble up in Midorima's chest, a smile tug at his lips. Aomine finally sighs, his arms dropping back to his sides, and he picks up the ball, adjusting his grip.

“Your form is solid, so I wouldn’t make any changes there. Coach and Satsuki still want me to pitch most games, and I’m not gonna give that up to you right away, but you have potential--someone’s gonna have to replace me when I graduate. Not that they aren’t watching you now; your speed and your height factor in. You might want to add something else to your lineup; maybe a cutter?”

Aomine looks to Midorima for his opinion; Midorima is wide-eyed. If _that's_ what tonight sounds like, well--maybe he could get used to it, but that doesn't mean he wants it to stop. Aomine grins and pinches his cheek when Midorima stays quiet, and Midorima wrinkles his nose, jerking away.

“I’m still working on my fastball,” He tells Aomine, rubbing at his cheek. “But I’ll consider it.”

Midorima takes another bite of onigiri; the sour plum tickles on his tongue. He looks back at Aomine, rolling the ball between his palms.

“You said you had a crush on me.”

Aomine nods, offering a small shrug.

“What do you want to do about it?”

“I mean, it’ll probably be a thing until it isn’t, I guess.”

“It doesn’t--” Midorima frowns, and he frowns harder when he feels his cheeks color again. “It’s fine with me.”

“Oh.” Aomine nods again, a small crack in his voice. “Cool.”

“Like I said,” Midorima insists, quieter now. “Tell me what you want to do.”

“I don’t know,” Aomine glances at Midorima, the corner of his mouth lifting when their eyes meet. “Seems like you had a rough day. Right now, I kinda just wanna hold your hand.”

Midorima is silent for a moment. Then, he turns his right hand over, palm up in the grass. 

Aomine slides his fingers over Midorima’s palm and between his fingers, calloused and warm. Midorima’s fingers close back over his.


End file.
